A Little TLC
by Star Braginski
Summary: A sweet moment passes between the Frenchie and Brit that was caused by... Scotland sorry, but he doesn't really make an appearance; only mentioned ?


A/n: Well... I'm not sure where this came from, but it kinda sparked and demanded my attention. I feel like it's a little OOC, but I'm still working on how to portray the two countries. SO FORGIVE ME AHEAD OF TIME! On with the story~

I was reaching for another Sherlock Holmes book from off the white shelf in my den. On the tip of my toes, I still couldn't reach that bloody shelf. I felt it mocked my short stature and refused to give up. My bare feet sunk into the plush white rug. I was thinking that I'd have to get a step stool when two strong arms wrapped around my waist. The lips on the side of my neck erased all thoughts of the book I'd wanted from my mind. I automatically became aware of the black slacks I wore and dark blue button-up t-shirt. One thought was able to push itself from my lips. "You're late, frog. Why?"

His lips were removed from my skin and I could feel his warm breath, scented lightly of wine. "Je suis desole, mon cher. I was kept."

"By whom?" I tried to keep my English accent as light as I could, but I knew he could hear the suspicion in my voice. I would never have guessed the name that slipped pass his lips.

"Allistor."

I froze, tensed in his arms. I no longer wanted him around me. "Get off of me." I closed my green eyes, absolutely disgusted with the man, with both men. "I said to get off of me, Francis." My voice was slow and low, all caused by my anger. How dare they?

"L'Angleterre-" Francis's tone was thick with regret, only adding to my annoyance of his French accent.

I didn't want to hear it. I elbowed him in the gut and, when I felt his grip on me loosen, turned towards him and pushed him away. It wasn't until I got a good look at him, dropped to the floor on his ass because of me, that I noticed his black eye and the suspiciously hand-shaped bruises on his throat. I immediately felt guilty for my actions, for rejecting him. It took a moment, but I sunk to my knees before him, noticing how rumpled he was. His light-grey t-shirt was horribly wrinkled and dusty, which was very unlike him, and had dots of dried blood in certain areas. The same could be said about his dark blue jeans. "Wha- what happened?"

He was looking at me with a tiredly sad expression. "He found out about us, cher, and just wouldn't shut up. I couldn't stand hearing him talk about you like that. Then, he had the nerve to try for me... I'm just not into red heads." Francis chuckled weakly at his failed joke. I felt my lips tremble. Allistor is my brother. My older brother, who raised me and the rest of the Kirkland kids. It was a rought childhood, but I'm not one to dwell on that. I put myself between his legs and reached out a gentle hand to cup his face. My fingers brushed against his chin stubble before resting on his cheek. I wasn't one to cry, but the sight made tears of frustration bead up in my emerald eyes.

"I'm so sorry, love." My voice trailed off upon seeing the look of worry in his foggy blue eyes.

"Shh... You didn't know." I could tell he picked up more to my apology. Not only was I sorry for rejecting him, but for suspecting him of cheating on me. I was also sorry about my brother. I knew too well what the fiery Scotsman could do with his lean, muscular build and cruel wit. He had sharp green eyes like me, but his hair was the color of a bright flame. Allistor had a mean streak and a horrible smoking habit to match.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by a hand traveling up my cheek and trailing into my short blonde hair. "It's okay." He reassured me. I was about to protest when he pulled me into a gentle, loving kiss.

My lips automatically molded against his, soft and warm. One of his arms wrapped back around my waist and he pulled my chest against his. I let my hands twine up into his long, golden locks. My lips fumbled against his as he slowly leaned back into my carpet. I used my elbows and knees to support my weight over him. His tongue slipped into my mouth and I could taste the wine he normally drank. He was hot and sweet, slick over my teeth and my tongue.

Our kiss became more urgent. I could feel his hand creep up the back of my shirt, gently brushing his fingertips across the scarred skin. I wasn't proud of my back. The scars of my mischievous past labeled me with so many names, the most important being 'misfit'. He took his time tracing all that his fingers found with a sweet tenderness. Francis knew my body better than I did. My fingers slid from his hair and slid down to his chest.

I broke from the kiss and pulled back, now kneeling over him. His legs had wrapped around my waist, but that didn't stop me. I started to edge his shirt off of him, but he was faster. Strong hands pulled up on my shirt and, after a moment to get my arms freed, the fabric was removed, only to be tossed to the side. My equally pale chest were taken in my his eyes, lingering on my toned abs. I quickly did the same to him, throwing his shirt on mine. His chest was warm and slightly hairy, unlike my silky smooth skin. I saw more bruises which I bent to gently kiss. All I did, I did gently.

Francis watched me carefully. He knew me to be anything but gentle. I was a spit-fire, hot-blooded, easily annoyed Englishman. I had a sharp tongue from bitter days not only spent as a pirate, the fiercest one on the seven seas at that, but also as a rebel. There was a time when I was a walking disaster, hurting anyone who got too close.

Yet the Frenchman, now the love of my life, went through it all. He was there when I was hurt by my brothers. He was there when I fought with Antonio, though he sided with the Spaniard for a while. He was there when I'd fallen head-over-heels in love with Alfred and got my heart-broken because of it. He was also there when I didn't want him, when I said I didn't need him.

No matter how cruelly I treated him, he'd always came back. I wasn't sure, for the longest time, whether Francis was desperate or if he was just that stupid. The day he admitted he loved me was the day my whole life changed. I retired my punk attire and settled for a better wardrobe. I became a gentleman. I couldn't admit it, but I'd started to fall for him too. I didn't want to hurt his reputation. Talking with the likes of me back then would sink you as low as one could go on the social ladder.

So, to offer a little ease, I brushed up. No more tricks, smoking, stealing, or illegal fun. No more sea voyages or purposely pissing people off, though I still do that last one every so often. A fresh start.

His hands traveled to cup my cheeks and gently pulled my lips away from a particularly nasty looking bruise. "Cher... Are you okay?" One thumb wiped a tear away from my eye when he traced along my cheek.

"I-I can't stand him. It's one thing to do it to me. It's another to drag you into this." I murmured, displeased. Just the thought of Allistor touching MY Francis made me feel sick. I felt him bury his face into my shoulder, pulling me so tight against him that it was almost uncomfortable. "Francis..." My tone was uneasy, unsure of what he was planning.

"Shh... Be quiet, L'Angleterre. Just forget him and focus on me." He said, trying to soothe me before I got too strung up.

I'm a viper, though, and I bite. I'm venomous. "I know, idiot." Even when the snake is loving, the poison is still there in its kiss. I pulled on the Frenchman's hair, bringing him away from my shoulder and holding him still to press my lips against his roughly.

After a moment, he pulled back and snickered. "What happened to being gentle?"

"S-shut up, frog!" I snapped mildly, resting my forehead on his. Blue eyes peered back up at me with nothing other than affection. He kissed me again and I wondered to myself:

How was I so lucky?


End file.
